Where are the servants
who long
to dance in the splendor
of a mercilessly kind world?
Where are the lovers
who stole away
in the garden, kissing and caressing
scandals of their own making?
Where are the children
who once
loved their families, though day
after day understood nothing?
Where are the adults, who can’t
know the meaning of
war
that they could still sing sweetly their
lullabies to people who’ve never known
them, strangers drowning in seas of rust?
But alas, I could never bring myself to
care,
as I reflect your sighs upon the meaning
of your
despair.
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